


New Years

by rosa_himmelblau



Category: Wiseguy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:22:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: Different lives on a different continent, but some things don't change.





	New Years

The sun had risen fully by the time they'd gotten back to their hotel room, and Sonny had suggested breakfast before they turned in. All Vinnie had wanted to do was sleep, but arguing with Sonny wouldn't have gotten him anywhere, it just would have delayed breakfast which would, in turn, have delayed his sleep. Before he'd had a chance to say anything, Sonny had pushed him toward the shower. "Stand under there for a while, it'll wake you up some."

So now he was leaning against the shower wall, letting the cool water pound him awake, idly thinking that it was the first time since their arrival that he'd been truly exhausted.

And why shouldn't he be? He and Sonny had been partying non-stop since nine the night before, and at every party there had been more than enough to drink. The wonder was that Sonny hadn't had to call a cab to get him back to the hotel.

What time was it back home, anyway? He'd reset his watch on the plane and hadn't given it a second thought in all the time they'd been there; now, with his brain sleep-deprived, he couldn't do the simple arithmetic needed to figure the eight hour time difference between New York and Rome.

Sonny was different here, less concerned with public image. _Like we've got a public image anymore._ He'd gotten them connecting rooms for the sake of appearances, but Sonny'd never slept in his own bed, or even messed up the bed to make it look as though he had. He used the room's closet to hang his clothes in, to keep them from being squeezed in with Vinnie's and getting wrinkled. It wouldn't've fooled anyone who might've been paying attention. _Not that anyone's paying any attention. Why should they? We're nothing but a couple of anonymous American tourists._

He could hear the TV playing in the bedroom but against the competition of the water, it was just so much noise.

Vinnie found the shampoo and lathered his hair up, wanting to wash away the cigarette smoke. Since he'd quit himself, he couldn't stand the way it clung to him after prolonged exposure.

They'd started their New Year's celebrating early last night, around seven o'clock, spent the night going to all the big parties.

Vinnie's favorite of the night had been the one they'd been at at midnight, some villa on the edge of the city. They didn't know anyone there—didn't know anyone in the city—but the champagne had been plentiful, the atmosphere celebratory, the women beautiful—or at least spangly and happy—and they'd had a great time.

They had been outside in the garden when the church bells began to ring, the fireworks to explode, and Sonny had taken his face to kiss him, a traditional New Year's Eve kiss that had turned into more. They had kissed and kissed, not caring who saw them, just standing in the chilly winter air, heating each other up. _If we'd been back home, it'd've taken more than some kisses to keep us warm. I'll take Italian over New York winters any day._

The freedom of being able to touch each other like that, without worrying, had been intoxicating all by itself. By the time the uproar had died down, they were flat-out making out. _Talk about your Christmas miracles—Sonny Steelgrave making out with a guy in public._

They'd hit another party after that, and then another, until near dawn Sonny had decided it was time to come back to their room, "for some real celebrating." That was, if Vinnie could stay awake; hence, the shower.

He shut off the water and just stood for a minute, dripping, before grabbing a towel to dry off. With the water off, the sounds from the television were making real words, but with the language difference Vinnie wasn't sure what he was listening to—New Year's celebrations, he assumed. His tired brain didn't seem to be able to translate, either. The announcer seemed to be talking about celebrations in different cities; Vinnie thought he caught _Londra_ and _Parigi,_ which he knew were London and Paris.

The trip had been a real surprise; the day after Thanksgiving Sonny had handed him a first class ticket to Rome and asked what he was doing for Christmas.

He hadn't been looking forward to the holidays—no family, no friends but Sonny, no identity anymore. The Christmas before he'd been in the hospital; the one before that, he'd been in the jungle, in a cell, with no idea what day it was. The idea of getting away from the cold, away from the familiar places that no longer knew him, had seemed inspired.

And when they arrived, it was everything Vinnie could have hoped for. Sonny seemed rejuvenated—no more having to watch over his shoulder all the time, no worrying someone might recognize them. Neither of them had realized just what a strain they were living under until it was suddenly gone.

Vinnie put on his robe, wiped the steam off the mirror, and started to shave.

Sonny insisted on buying him new clothes. And then, of course, he wanted to see all the sights, had rented a car and gotten himself a guidebook. Vinnie had pretended to be interested for as long as he could, but eventually he'd begun to amuse himself by seeing how far he could push Sonny, making more and more obvious advances, until he'd had Sonny flustered and horny and so pissed off he was barely speaking to him. "Well, if you're not enjoying your sight-seeing, why don't we go back to the hotel?" he'd asked innocently, relenting only when Sonny threatened to leave him there, in the middle of the Roman countryside. After that he'd contented himself with trailing after Sonny, enjoying his new, relaxed demeanor more than anything Rome had to offer. He wasn't surprised when Sonny suggested they relocate there permanently, had agreed immediately. It would be so easy to leave their pasts behind.

Vinnie wiped the traces of shaving cream from his face, then brushed his teeth before opening the bathroom door. He'd expected to find Sonny eating breakfast already, but instead he was sitting at the foot of the bed, still wearing his shirt—unbuttoned—and his shorts and socks, watching TV with an odd intensity. Vinnie was about to kid him about still being dressed, but something about the expression on his face silenced him. Something felt different. 

Vinnie noticed the room service cart and went over to it, lifted one of the lids. The smell of bacon and eggs jump-started his appetite. He picked up the plate and a fork and went to sit next to Sonny on the bed. "Want some?"

Sonny didn't even glance at him.

Vinnie shrugged and started eating. After a moment the TV drew his attention as well.

It was the local news, showing a satellite feed from New York. Even without his rudimentary Italian, Vinnie would have known what the announcer was saying—the picture on the screen explained it all: the big, silver ball was about to drop in Times Square.

Vinnie's eating slowed, then stopped. He put his plate on the floor and stretched out on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, feet against the headboard. _Home._ He hadn't been to Times Square at midnight on a New Year's Eve since before he was sent to prison, but now it felt like it had only been yesterday. He could feel the cold, the jostling of the crowd, and the excitement of something new. He didn't have to look at Sonny to know he was feeling the same thing.

The ten-second countdown had begun. Vinnie heard Sonny counting under his breath and smiled; he was counting too. They had celebrated New Year's earlier, but it wouldn't be official 'til the new year came to New York.

And then the ball dropped. Vinnie reached over and kissed Sonny briefly, and Sonny returned the kiss—with some passion, Vinnie thought—but his eyes went back to the TV screen immediately.

"Happy New Year," Sonny echoed Dick Clark, his tone bittersweet, almost sad. Vinnie watched with him for a few more minutes, then he got up and went to the adjoining room and got the suitcases that they'd stowed in a corner there. When he returned to his room the television was off and Sonny was on the phone.

"Quando ha luogo il vostro volo seguente a New York?"

Vinnie tossed one of the suitcases onto the bed and went back to Sonny's room for his clothes.

Sonny was still on the phone when he got back, though the phone was now sitting on the floor, as far as the cord would reach, and he was at the room service cart, eating bacon wrapped in toast.

"How long 'til the flight?" Vinnie asked.

"There's one at noon. If we hustle, we can make it. Pour me a cup of coffee, will you? And get some clothes on, I'm calling for someone to get our bags."


End file.
